


Grantaire and the Attack of the Amis Muses

by KChan88



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Crack-fic sort of, Gen, Modern AU, Slight E/R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hungover, exhausted, and having a terrible day after being shouted at by his professor for getting in the way of his own talent, Grantaire shows up early to the Amis meeting with flyers he promised to do for Enjolras when Feuilly fell ill. He falls asleep, struck by strange dreams of his friends dressed up in a very similar fashion to the muses from Disney's Hercules and singing to him. </p>
<p>He is not amused. </p>
<p>Inspired by a tumblr post by grantairez of gifs of Grantaire during Red and Black with the lyrics to "I Won't Say I'm in Love."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grantaire and the Attack of the Amis Muses

                   

Grantaire trudges up the stairs to the second-floor of the Café Hugo after his three hour studio class; he stayed out far too late with Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel last night, but the trouble was they didn’t have class on Friday mornings, whereas he most certainly did. He was also most certainly half an hour late, and after class his professor pulled him aside and lectured him for another forty-five minutes.

“You’re so talented, Grantaire,” she said, walking back and forth in front of his easel. “And yet you are constantly getting in your own way, you are always late…”

He pushes the memory out of his mind, not caring to think any further on it just now. He orders the biggest latte in the place and sits down at the table in the corner, tugging his green hoodie tighter around him against the over-exuberant air-conditioning in early April. He opens his backpack, pulling out his laptop and the flyers for the meeting; the flu took Feuilly captive over the past few days, and so Grantaire, in an effort to wipe the worried expression off Enjolras’ face as he sent a weary Feuilly home, volunteered to do the graphics for the flyers himself.

He printed off two-hundred at the office supply store as Enjolras requested, sitting them carefully on the table, far away from his gargantuan cup of coffee and his laptop.

Because knowing him, he’ll knock that coffee all over those flyers, if he’s not careful. He was not born with that thing people usually refer to as grace.

What with the hangover pounding behind his eyes, being late to class, and then getting lectured by his professor, he’s at least gotten _this_ right today.

He gazes at the flyers, hoping Enjolras will be pleased, because Grantaire likes nothing better than to see that soaring faith shine through in his friend’s rare but bright smiles. He often catches Enjolras half-smiling, sees his lips quirking upward when he finds something funny, but when he truly smiles? It’s truly something to behold, almost as if that smile contains all the hope of a better world.

That’s the smile he’s searching for.

He opens his laptop, but after only a few moments of staring blearily at the screen and his list of never-ending assignments, he pushes it back and rests his head on the table. He should do this assignment now, he knows, but his _head_.

“If there’s a prize for rotten judgment,” he mumbles to himself, eyes falling closed heavily with the weight of his exhaustion. “I guess I’ve already won _that_.”

And after a few moments, Morpheus steals him away on the waves of slumber…

_Grantaire wakes up again, suddenly._

_He is decidedly NOT anywhere familiar._

_He’s on the upper floor of what looks like a run-down café of some kind, and what…what is he wearing? A green waist-coat and…he reaches up to feel his hair, the curls much longer than he normally keeps them. Is he in the 1800s, or something? Did he drink something…strange?_

_He doesn’t have much time to contemplate, though, because suddenly the room goes black._

_“What the hell?” he asks the silent room. “Hello, what..?”_

_Two spotlights turn on, bright as the ever-loving daylight, one on himself and one on…is that Enjolras? It certainly looks like Enjolras, although his hair is longer, tied back at the nape of his neck, and he’s wearing the same sort of clothes as Grantaire, although in red instead of green._

_“Enjolras,” he says, a bit relieved he’s not alone in this strange place._

_But Enjolras doesn’t appear to hear him._

_And then, is that…is that music playing? Music that sounds vaguely familiar?_

_Out of nowhere more spotlights appear, highlighting Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, and even Marius dressed in…red and black…togas?_

_Red and black TOGAS._

_With circlets of red daisies on their heads._

_WHAT.IS.GOING.ON?_

_“What are you guys doing here?” he asks, staring around at all of them. “And please tell me you lost a bet, dressed like that.”_

_“We are the muses of love!” Jehan exclaims enthusiastically, tossing red daises into the air. “And you, my friend, have got it BAD,” he says, looking pointedly at Enjolras, still silent and seemingly unawares, writing in the corner, the spotlight glinting off his golden blonde hair._

_“You’ve been reading too much poetry my friend,” Grantaire scoffs. “No one is worth the aggravation. That’s ancient history...” he stops. Why are his words coming out in effing song? What on EARTH? “Been there, done that!”_

_Why can’t he stop SINGING?_

_He knows now. This is music from Hercules, from that old kid’s movie Courfeyrac and Jehan made them all watch last week, WHY IS HE DREAMING ABOUT THIS?_

_The mysterious source of the music swells, and then his friends are singing too, looking at him like he’s crazy for thinking they’re crazy, as if this is a completely a normal occurrence in their everyday lives, singing Disney songs and dressing togas._

_“Who'd'ya think you're kiddin', he's the Earth and heaven to you. Try to keep it hidden, honey, we can see right through you. Boy, ya can't conceal it, we know how ya feel and who you're thinking of!” they sing in perfect harmony, shooting him knowing, sly looks._

_“Oh no!” Grantaire sings, his own voice still coming out in song despite all his efforts to prevent it. “No chance, no way I won’t say it, no, no.”_

_At his words Jehan pulls him merrily by both hands into the center of the room, and his friends gather around him in a circle, and Courfeyrac gestures toward Enjolras, and Grantaire feels an unconscious smile tugging his lips upward, feels his heart lift with the kind of hope he feels only in Enjolras’ presence._

_“You swoon, you sigh,” Courfeyrac sings, grinning, a sparkle winking off the edge of his teeth as he swings an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder. “Why deny it?”_

_Grantaire frowns now instead, tossing Courf’s arm away in irritation, feigning nonchalance._

_“It’s too cliché,” Grantaire says with an ironic laugh. “I won’t say I’m in love.”_

_He looks around at them all, but they’re just standing there with their arms crossed over their chests, smirking in those utterly ridiculous but color appropriate togas._

_“I thought my heart had learned its lesson,” Grantaire continues, singing again, but he’s just going with absurdity of this, because it’s a dream, it has to be, because Combeferre and Feuilly at the VERY least could not be roped into this charade. Marius certainly, was only dragged along by Courfeyrac. “It feels so good when you start out. My head is screaming get a grip, man, unless you're dying to cry your heart out.”_

_Grantaire glances at Enjolras again and tries walking toward the stairs because he’d rather be anywhere in this dream world but in this 1800s show tunes cafe, but Joly and Bossuet promptly seize him at the same time, and he’s hardly able to contain his laughter at their cat-like grins, despite his annoyance._

_“You keep on denying, who you are and how you're feeling, baby, we're not buying,” they sing together in his ear, twirling him around to Jehan, who catches him by the hand._

_“Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling,” the poet says, his grin sending light spinning into his eyes. Grantaire thinks of the first time he heard Enjolras speak to a crowd, remembers feeling like he was someone again. “Face it like a grown-up, when ya gonna own up that ya got, got, got it badddd?”_

_“No chance, no WAY,” Grantaire protests again, shaking Jehan gently off, his protests sounding less and less sincere to his own ears._

_He can’t even look at Enjolras now, but there’s another smile forming on his lips._

_“Give up, give in,” Combeferre sings, his tone droll even in song, putting a hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Check the grin, you’re in love.”_

_“This scene won’t play,” Grantaire says, shaking his head at Combeferre. “I won’t say I’m in love.”_

_“You’re doin flips,” Courfeyrac nearly trills, grabbing him again and spinning him around in a circle, and Grantaire hears his own laugh echo through the room. “You’re in love.”_

_“You’re way off base,” Grantaire sings, trying to ignore it as Jehan puts a circlet of those damned red daises in his hair. This is so, so ridiculous. Wake up, he wills himself. WAKE UP, DAMMIT. “I won’t say it! Get off my case! I won’t say it!”_

_The music settles, quieting a bit, and suddenly all of them are right next to him, all of their hands on his shoulders as they look at the silent, ghostlike Enjolras in the corner._

_“Man, don’t be proud,” Bahorel says, smacking his back so hard he nearly falls over. “It’s okay, you’re in love.”_

Hands shakes Grantaire awake, and he opens his eyes only to be met with Enjolras’ piercing blue orbs very close to his own. He jumps into the air, knocking his chair over with a loud, boisterous crash.

“AH!” he shouts. “God, you scared me.”

“You were mumbling in your sleep,” Enjolras tells him, very clearly concerned, picking up the chair from where it fell. “Almost like…singing.”

“I…long night,” Grantaire evades, feeling Combeferre’s hand on his forehead. “What…Combeferre, what are you doing?”

He cannot, under any circumstance, look Combeferre in the eye right now.

Because just moments ago he’d been donning a RED TOGA. Which is very un-Combeferre like.

“You’re sweating,” Combeferre says in a very matter of fact tone. “I wanted to see if you were breaking a fever.”

“I’m fine,” Grantaire protests, swatting Combeferre’s hand away.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asks, still not convinced.

“Just…dreaming,” Grantaire answered, pushing the box of flyers toward Enjolras. “Here’s the flyers.”

Enjolras takes them, still looking worried and a pinch bewildered.

“Give it up, Courf,” Jehan’s voice says from the stairwell. “Check your grin out…you’re in love.”

“I won’t say I’m in love,” Courfeyrac protests, mock agitated, because no one can _really_ be agitated at Jehan. “I will say I’m infatuated with her.”

Grantaire stands up abruptly, shoving his laptop into his bag.

Why are the song lyrics FOLLOWING HIM?

“Grantaire?” Combeferre asks. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Did you get sick from going out last night?” Joly asks from behind Courf and Jehan. “I think I might have…”

“No, just…”

“Dreaming?” Enjolras asks, not giving up the ghost. “About what?” he continues, putting a single headphone in his ear, all ready to work in the hour before the meeting.

“I…I was in 1800s France I think? And all of you were wearing red and black togas and… singing?” Grantaire says wildly, hoping they’ll just let it go.

Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Bahorel, and Joly erupt into laughter so hard tears start streaming down their faces in an instant. They’re half-screaming with laughter and Grantaire feels the blood rush to his face, skin flushing bright red.

Oh, how _appropriate_ , given the togas _._

“Singing?” Enjolras asks. “Strange.”

“The togas are a bit stranger to me,” Combeferre remarks. “Especially in 1800s France.“

“What were we…singing?” Marius asks.

“Um…some Disney thing,” Grantaire mumbles.

“Oh, I do like the old Disney movies!” Jehan, says excitedly. “Which one?”

But Grantaire is relieved of answering by Enjolras.

“Courfeyrac!” he exclaims, looking down at his iPod, frustrated and amused all at once. “Did you put music on my iPod again?”

“Hercules!” Courfeyrac says, jubilant. “My favorite Disney movie. Thought you’d find it inspiring. Go the Distance, and all that. You liked that song when we watched, remember?”

Grantaire has to fight against the urge for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Are.you.serious?

Enjolras shakes his head but presses play anyhow, resigned.

His friends are trolling him, Grantaire thinks. They have to be trolling him.

“I’ll be back before the meeting,” Grantaire says, literally unable to believe this progression of events. “I need a walk…or something.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Feuilly asks, arching one eyebrow.

“I’m fine, just need to wake up,” Grantaire says. “See you in a bit.”

He decides to leave his bag in the care of his friends, and goes hastily down the stairs, turning back seemingly without his own permission to look at Enjolras, the absurd dream swirling around in his head.

“At least out loud,” he mutters. “I won’t say I’m in…”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras calls. “Wait a second.”

Grantaire stalls.

What nowwwwwwwwwww? He just wants out of here so he can try and see his friends without thinking of their toga-wearing, Disney-singing, flower circlet donning counterparts.

“These flyers are fantastic!” Enjolras says, that full, genuine smile lighting up his face. “Some of the best we’ve ever had. Feuilly agrees.”

“Oh, well thanks,” Grantaire says, unable to keep from smiling. “Let me know if I can help again.”

“If you’re willing, you can take turns with Feuilly,” Enjolras says, clearly excited about Grantaire’s interest, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Your art really gets the message across.”

“Sure thing, Enjolras,” he says, glancing down at his friend’s iPod. “Listening to that music Courf put on?”

“Might as well, can’t seem to stop him from putting in on there,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes, but there’s a definite fondness in his tone. “A song called ‘I Won’t Say I’m in Love’ just came on. Sounds like our Courfeyrac.”

“That’s a great one!” Grantaire squeaks, reddening again despite himself. “See you in few!”

And with that he dashes off, leaving a mightily confused Enjolras behind him.

 

 


End file.
